


Telephone Tag

by midnightflame



Series: As Human as We Are [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Jokes, Band banter, Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of other compromising situations, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 15:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: While Shiro and Keith enjoy a moment to catch up with themselves, the rest of the group takes the time to discuss their friend's newly founded relationship. . .and all the trouble it has brought them.Or another Seasons follow-up where the band catches our lovely couple of Shiro and Keith in a variety of compromising situations and takes the time to lament about it.





	Telephone Tag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sochan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sochan/gifts).



> This was a fic request from Twitter, involving the Seasons universe, by which after various discussions about how the band would react to Shiro and Keith _finally_ getting together and the ensuing bits of compromising situations they get found in. Basically, this is meant to be a fun way to poke at the couple, which was asked to include pictures on the phone and Shiro/Keith getting caught by each of the Voltron crew. I'm sorry for the bad jokes, but I sincerely hope you like this, Sochan!

Five minutes ago, Keith had been standing there with a smirk sitting on his lips, all king upon its throne, and his fingers hooked around Shiro’s belt. It was black leather with small silver stars as studs, chosen by Keith just that morning because if there was one thing Shiro had needed it was a handful of wish-granters encircling his hips. He had run his thumbs over the closest five-pointed glimmer, leaned up, and whispered to Shiro that he had a dream or two he could help him manifest in the hour they had to call their own.

Three minutes ago, Keith had his legs wrapped around Shiro’s waist, with hands digging firm against his ass and his lips suctioned to Shiro’s throat as Shiro walked them both back towards the dressing room table. It was supposed to have been for the entirety of their group – the room that was. Lance had finally walked out twenty minutes ago saying he wasn’t about to be turned into some pyrotechnic display by the look burning in Shiro’s eyes. 

When Keith finds himself dumped onto the dressing room’s vanity table, legs still clinging tight to hips and Shiro’s tongue warm as salted caramel against his ear, he realizes he doesn’t have the time or the care to regret the departure of the rest of his band. 

Maybe later. Maybe on another planet with another life to call his own. Just not now.

Because Shiro had been missing that morning, gone from the bed before Keith could shake off sleep, all because of a midterm that had swallowed Shiro’s time the same way a Great White took down the better parts of its meal – in large, remorseless, bloodied chunks. Shiro had come back a haunted man that afternoon, collapsing onto the couch and drowning himself in the sleep he had deprived himself of over the last week. Which meant Keith had headed to the venue himself, with that odd sort of frustration that comes to simmer in a man’s veins when desire loses its best outlet. 

It had been a week of quick chaste kisses with apologies laced between them and half-formed forays towards sex that sputtered out when Shiro inevitably crashed under the deadening press of sleep-deprivation. 

Keith thinks he could be sorry for all of this, for the way he left that note over the outfit he had chosen for Shiro, for the appraising look he had given him when Shiro had walked into the dressing room thirty minutes ago, for the smile that had curved sharp and wicked over his lips when Shiro had run his palms against his thighs, just a little embarrassed. That look, however, with Shiro’s cheeks just a bit red, the fire renewed in his eyes, and black denim tight as neoprene casing his thighs had given over plenty for Keith’s imagination to entertain. 

And now. . .now they finally had the time a week’s worth of exams had stolen from them. 

Shiro’s hand is running up the back of Keith’s neck, fingers curling in around the edges of his hair. A breath slips over Keith’s lips, heavy with the promise of a moan. Pressure registers at the back of his skull as Shiro’s fingers tighten then tug, pulling his head back and exposing the line of his throat. Mouth finds his pulse point; tongue traces a thin line along it. Keith slides his hands beneath Shiro’s T-shirt, a faded gray that hangs loose over his torso, and drags his nails down across skin.

Shiro bites down, a growl scraping against his teeth.

“ _Fuck_ , Shiro. . ”

A small huff of laughter answers Keith, just before lips seal up the site and Shiro begins the languid process of pulling a bruise to the surface. 

He won’t be able to hide it. It’s too far up, just beneath the curve of his jaw, just out of reach of his hair. Keith imagines the audience staring up at the mark as he pours his voice out against the microphone, wondering what it could all mean, if he was _possibly_ taken. Because no one ever likes to commit to that sort of insinuation when they think maybe it could have been a simple weekend fling, or maybe a day trip to lust’s playground, or maybe it meant nothing and there is still that star’s hope of a chance hovering there for someone who could _actually_ mean something.

But Shiro means everything to him. Right down to the way that thought alone sends the blood rushing to his cock. 

Keith rolls his hips. Shiro nips in retaliation at the red mark his lips have persuaded into blossoming.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better spot for that?” he breathes out. 

Fingers tug again, coaxing his back into an arch as his head is pulled towards his shoulders. Behind him, Keith can now make out his reflection in the mirror, face cast in a dim yellow glow from the track lighting around it. And just above him, he can see Shiro’s eyes boring into his second-self, gaze a soul-stealing searing. Keith imagines this is what they must have meant when they spoke of staring into Hell’s flames and finding yourself a lost man. 

Shiro _is_ everything. All he has wanted, desired, needed.

Everything he has loved. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” The smile Shiro flashes at the mirror is wolfish, complete with teeth bared, lips parted. Set for devouring. 

Keith moans softly. 

“I found your note. . .’ Shiro follows up, in that casual brand of tone that puts the mind on high-alert. Red lights screaming warning because nothing is ever that simple, that off-hand when you’re trapped in a place with little room for escape and little want for it either. Shiro dips his head, lets his lips drift light across Keith’s throat, the touch questioning in a way that tells Keith the answers have already been discovered, but he’ll be asked nonetheless. For the _fair play_ of it. The sirens start blaring against his skull.

Seconds later, the world goes dark as his eyes shut. A black as deep and fathomless as that consuming space before a star bursts into existence.

“It’s been a week. You - “ A pause, and with it, a palm presses against the hardened outline of Keith’s cock. “ – owe me.”

Amusement carries Shiro’s voice as he echoes the note’s contents against Keith’s neck. 

“Mmmm. . .” Ownership of those words comes in the form of a soft hum, bubbling in Keith’s throat. With a lick of his lips and the pulse of a smile - “So. . .how will you pay me back for my patience?”

Shiro laughs, the sound of it vibrating over Keith’s skin, reverberating right down into his heart, echoing in his core like that last penny hitting the water’s surface of a wishing well. The breath hitches in his throat. Back arches as a hand slides beneath his shirt and glides up along his ribs. But it’s the sound of his zipper finding itself undone that finally has Keith trembling over the table. And as he opens his eyes, it’s just in time to catch the flicker of fire in Shiro’s gaze as he sinks down along the length of his body.

“Try to keep quiet.”

Words mouthed against his navel, and the last thought that finds itself grappling for purchase is that Shiro looks damn fine with a devil’s smile taking his lips.

*

One. Two. Three.

Fourfivesix.

The first trio of water bottles is set upon the table with heavy-handed deliberateness. One after the other, all neatly in line. The last three come raining down, bouncing with dull plastic pops of sound before they cave in and fall to their sides, rolling back and forth like battered bowling pins resigned to their fates. 

“What was that all about?” Allura questions, motioning to the still rocking mess with a flicker of fingers, nails silvered and glittered glinting in the too-bright white lights shining down on them.

“Oh, nothing really. Just you know. . .“ Lance gestures over the table like an explanation could be found in there somewhere before taking his seat. He had made a rather fine disaster of it, with two of the bottles having found their bitter end amongst a discarded pile of pizza crusts and the third now coated in 'robust' tomato sauce. Speaking of disasters - “. . .Shiro sucking Keith dry in our dressing room.”

“First off, I told you not to go back in there. Secondly, them making out is nothing to be dropping bottles over and nearly ruining dinner,” Pidge mutters. Her plate, stacked with three different types of pizza for what was life but a study in experimentation, had been deftly pulled from the table and now rested against her bent knees. Around a mouthful of pineapple and ham, she continues, pizza slice waving over her plate. “. . .Besides, at most that is like a PG-13 rating coming from them lately.”

“No, no. . . just no. This is not some watered down teenage love kiss for the masses! I mean like full on dick in mouth and Keith moaning like he’s trying to raise the next full moon!”

Pidge’s mouth doesn’t close around her next bite. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me?!” There is no real question in that particular exclamation, though Allura does carry the situation-appropriate look of the scandalized, hand raised just over her lips. But within the following second, she’s perched on the edge of her chair, that hint of morbid curiosity popping off sparks in her eyes.

Lance takes the small opportunity bobbing up for him, snatching it full in the mouth, as he leans his head towards Allura.

“Oh, it was awful. Like hands all over, teeth marks everywhere. . .they’re fucking monsters,” he whispers to her.

From her chair opposite, Lance catches Pidge rolling her eyes as the edge of her pizza slice gets crammed into her mouth. Something had to dam up her words, but like usual, her look tends to say it all regardless - _fucking moron_. He flashes her his most charming smile, the one he swears slays men and women alike on that spot but always gets Pidge to deadpan at him like he was the worst joke ever told. 

It’s a thing of beauty, really.

“So, do we need to stage an intervention with them or something?” The question comes floating over Allura’s lips, low enough to moonlight as conspiratorial but lacking any of the true belief that tends to come with the underhanded and purposefully plotted. More of a suggestion really, playing into the hands of potential amusement. 

Hunk shifts in his seat. A pizza box is balanced on his lap, salvaged from the table, along with one of the water bottles that had been contemplating death with the pizza crusts. “Is it really _that_ bad?”

“Just last week, I caught a glimpse of Keith with his hand down Shiro’s pants doing. . . well, I’m sure you know what he was doing. . .” 

Allura’s voice is crisp, clear, and condemning. The smallest grimace ends her statement, the same one she got when she realized pineapple had been elected an official pizza topping for the night. 

“Shiro was moaning that good, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

Lance’s smile turns Cheshire Cat sharp as he leans back in his chair, right leg folding over the left, an arm dropping itself over the back. “Like you don’t know.”

Red scurries along Allura’s cheekbones like a mouse darting out at midnight for a meal. She coughs delicately, pulling herself as straight-backed as possible though her gaze insists on being attached to anything that isn’t living. “Well, I mean. . .he did seem to be enjoying himself."

“You like the way Shiro sounds in bed. . .” Lance drawls, pulling out the sensual with each syllable.

“It’s nothing like that! Actually, it was highly inappropriate considering it was back stage at the last show.”

“Ballsy. Also, this coming from you who almost had a tit pop out during that performance so if we want to talk inappropriate . . .”

“That was not by choice!”

“Maybe you should have considered a different top. One that looks less like a circus cage housing the main act.”

Pidge drops her paper plate on the table with a greasy smack. Licking at her thumb, she glances first at Lance then at Allura. “So, we’re back to lions roaring, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Lance asks, eyebrow lifted as though the confusion in his question hadn’t been enough to go on.

“Shiro?. . .Sex sounds?”

“Pidge, I think I have a newfound appreciation for you.”

“Don’t. I only know because I walked in on them at your last party.”

“No!” Lance gasps, hand flying to his chest like a Southern bride accused of infidelity on her wedding day. Where the accusations are honest-to-God truth so the fire is just a bit too subdued, but the drama is in full flaring effect. Every bit of the act telling Pidge that Lance knew of this information already, but it doesn’t stop him from asking. “ _Where_?

And like any good friend, Pidge can play along, and so she lets the smugness sit vindictive in her expression as she leans over the table and tips one of the remaining water bottles still standing over in Lance’s direction. Checkmate. “Your bed.”

“I’m going to kill him.” And this part almost sounds like truth. “I know Keith told Shiro it would be okay."

“And Shiro being who is he probably changed your sheets. . .” Pidge offers in consolation. 

Lance heaves out a large-bellied sigh, mostly for effect. Maybe a touch of it for actual lamentation. “He’s going to make a great wife someday. . .”

“Only he can’t cook,” Allura points out after tugging off a piece of crust.

“But apparently he can suck a guy off like a god. The Prometheus of blowjobs – bringing men orgasms like fire and putting the light in their sex lives. . .So, he can’t cook! He’ll just take care of your appetite in other ways. . .”

“Are we seriously still talking about this?” Hunk groans.

Lance throws a withering glance in his direction. “Oh, like you haven’t found them in some sick yet sexy compromising situation.”

Hunk closes the lid of his pizza box, places it neatly on the folding table serving as the centerpiece of their dining set and starts stacking the other near-emptied boxes on top of it. 

“You can’t be sick and sexy. . .” he mutters while herding the remaining water bottles towards the boxes.

As the disaster he inflicted finds itself pulled into some semblance of organized chaos, Lance catches sight of a cellphone, encased in bright red, and leans over to swipe it off the table. “Yeah, you can. Shiro is sexy as fuck, but realizing he’s balls deep in your BFF is a bit twisted and sick.”

“So, basically you got turned on by it.”

Lance gives a non-committal shrug of his shoulders, flipping the phone over in his hands. He’s determined to pinpoint the exact shade of red Keith’s phone cover is, probably something like _soulfire crimson_ , if only because it saves him from Allura’s penetrating stare.

The one heavy with judgment and maybe a smidge of exasperation. 

“Only half mast that time. But the little-big guy and I have talked about this and it’s not happening again. And in my defense, we all know panties would drop for Shiro if he wasn’t always looking at Keith.”

“Lance?” 

“Yeah, Hunk?”

“Way too much. Way, waaaaaay too much,” he replies, head shaking like reason would rightly have a man doing in such a situation. Because there are some things you just did not discuss – like your best friend’s sex life. Even if it is spilling into aspects of everyone else’s lives like honey from a broken hive, each stumbled upon incident stinging at the notion of human dignity and causing patience to swell with the blossoming seeds of indignation. 

What was repression for if not exact moments like that?

Lance offers another shrug, the smile over his lips curving like a sickle set to reap. “Seems like you got way too much with the way you keep avoiding the topic.”

Hunk’s hands jolt against the table, knocking over the nearest water bottle as the tremor rocks through it. “Lance!”

Allura is leaning over the table now, forearms planted firm against the white plastic top and her eyes shining bright with renewed curiosity. The kind of curiosity that drops snakes into the pit of a man’s stomach and leaves him praying to God none of them are too venomous. 

“Wait. . .wait! I want to know what could have been so bad!”

Lance’s smile has grown wider still. He tips his head towards Allura, his gaze meeting hers squarely. 

“Allura, I love you. . .” Then a flash of those eyes in Hunk’s direction as Lance takes to leaning over the table as well. “C’mon, big guy. . .you can’t be the only one who hasn’t suffered and not talked about it.”

“Seriously?” Hunk whines. 

“ _Seriously_ ,” Lance and Allura echo is unison.

There’s no getting out of this. There has never been any getting out of this. And his last champion is over there shrugging her shoulders at him as if to say some victories were better left in the hands of others before she turns back to her cellphone and starts shifting colors around on the screen on her latest puzzler game. 

Hunk sighs, relenting and quietly hating himself for doing it. “So, you know how Keith sometimes makes coffee runs for us?”

A round of nods greets his words, faces rapt with attention like he was telling the most epic of children’s bed time stories, full of wholesome things like dragons and knights and loyal steeds, and not regaling them with some sordid encounter better bleached from brains because there isn’t enough acid in all of the college’s labs to burn out the sight. 

Hunk can feel the blush scalding his cheeks as he starts talking again. 

“Well, I was texting with Shiro while he was in the TA lounge grading papers and offered to bring him coffee. He said Keith was already on his way, so he could at least put off dying for a few more hours. . .you know, the usual.” A laugh hiccups out of him. At least that part of it all had been a little bit funny, as Shiro’s death-courting humor generally tended to be - once you got over the idea that part of him might actually be serious about it all. “So, I thought, why not brighten up the guy’s life a little more? I had just made some Oreo bars and was only a building over since I had stopped by for Pidge.”

He can feel the words coiling up in his throat as the next pieces of the story revive like lightning-struck zombies. Shambling across his mind, reminding him of the horror with every putrid, smoking step. 

“Hunk?” Lance prods. He almost sounds concerned.

Almost.

“Yeah! Ummm, so I stopped by and I guess Keith got to the whole ‘let me brighten your night up’ faster than I did because Shiro had him. . .bent over a desk, my desk actually. Or well the one I usually claim, but I guess that was okay because Shiro’s was overrun with papers, but Keith, man. . .I don’t think he even knew or maybe he was so far gone because he just yelled at Shiro to not stop. . .”

Hunk draws in a shuddering breath. “There were Oreo bars everywhere.”

Across the table, Allura has her hands pressed against her mouth, shoveling every ounce of laughter back between her lips. Hunk’s pretty sure those are tears springing up among her lashes though. 

Lance clears his throat. Once, twice. The smile is trying to break the controlled line of his lips, causing his cheeks to quiver ever so slightly. “Yeah. . .” Another cough. Another snort of laughter from Allura. “See - that was your problem right there. Keith wasn’t bringing coffee. Keith was bringing Keith. The coffee was just a small side perk, like a mint after a five-course gourmet dinner.”

“Well, I know that _now_. So, thanks for the perspective, Lance,” Hunk grumbles, reaching over to finally right the fallen water bottle.

“Just doing what I can, buddy.”

“Speaking of doing things - give me that before you lock yourself out.” Pidge has her hand extended over the table, eyes still trained on her phone’s screen. 

Lance hands over the _soulfire_ (he’s totally nailing Keith with that one when he gets the chance) phone, eyebrow quirked in question. Hunk levels himself with a heavy sigh and sinks back into his chair like a man finally pardoned for the crimes he never committed. 

Setting aside her own phone for a moment, Pidge devotes all of five seconds of her attention to Keith’s phone, fingers flying over its surface, before handing it back to Lance and resuming her game once more.

“How did you. . .” Lance stammers, staring down at all the apps blaring bright across the screen, just waiting for his less-than-best intentions.

Without even a glance up, Pidge replies with an easy if not mildly condemning -“This is Keith we’re talking about. . .”

“Sooooo. . .what was it?”

“Shiro’s name followed by his birthday.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Lance turns the phone over like there’s some secret compartment waiting to be discovered. It never goes that easy. When it goes that easy, there’s usually another trap lying in wait, reading to spring an early death on you. Pidge offers him a shrug. “I feel like we just broke into some middle school girl’s not-so-secret secret diary.”

Allura snorts. “Close enough.”

“Aww, don’t fault the boy for being head over heels in love and pining away about it for years. Besides, we have him to blame for opening Pandora’s box on Shiro’s sex drive.”

The corner of Hunk’s mouth twists with the smile he doesn’t want to acknowledge. It’s followed by a nod of agreement; he can manage that much at least. “He did _a lot_ on that stage. . .”

Lance shoots a pointed finger in Hunk’s direction.

“Exactly! And all those songs about dying stars, unreachable galaxies. . . .hasn’t it all been just one big ‘let me jump on that, Shiro’ we’ve been listening to for years?”

Looks are shared, one to the other, until all of them end of letting loose laughter across the table. 

“They need a name,” Lance throws out there.

Allura tips her head, the laughter having faded from her lips, replaced by a puzzled smile. “What are you talking about now. . .?”

“You know, like Brangelina and shit like that people do with supposedly epic couples now.”

Pidge pulls her phone into her lap, the game seemingly forgotten though it still chirps occasionally from the depths it had been relegated to, and shoots a despairing glare at Lance. “No, they do that because they’re stupid and have no lives. There is absolutely nothing epic about any of that.”

“Oh, I know but admit it,” Lance continues, that charm back to gilding his smile. “Couples like that always have that ‘Gone with the Wind this probably won’t end well but man is it grand as shit’ vibe. And really at the end of the day, aren’t the majority of us just standing there going ‘yeah but frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’ about it all?”

“So, are you trying to tell us they're going to die miserably or to just let them be or. . .?” Pidge prods.

“Let who be?” 

Pidge throws a forgotten piece of crust over at Lance, who catches it without question in his mouth. Allura gags from her seat, mouthing _gross_ to him while Lance simply chews and smiles like he’s doesn’t know the sound of disapproval. 

“Shiro and Keith?” Pidge finally supplies with a sigh.

“You mean Sheith.” The flick of a finger across the phone screen and the fine arch of an eyebrow punctuate that statement.

“NO. No. . _no_. . .we are _not_ doing this. I am not calling them that stupid ass name!”

“Then you are missing out on one of the worst but decidedly more colorful parts of modern society, Pidge.”

A narrowing of amber eyes meets that statement dead-on. “Don’t even, Lance. You are not giv –“

“Punk.”

“I hate you.”

Hunk chokes on a laugh at that, earning him a similar glare with the added disapproving pout.

“You love me, Pidge. You always have ever since I agreed to watch Mars Attacks in a blanket fort with you and a pot full of Jujubes because Matt got deployed. I even picked out all the lime ones for you!” Lance’s retort comes easy, smooth as black ice and hiding just as much danger as it paves the way for his next statement. “Also – “

He flips the phone around, holding it out for all to see.

“ - how drunk do you think Shiro would have to be to let us use his ass for a game of quarters?”

“That. . .that. . .” Hunk mumbles before dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t believe you just showed us that.”

Lance gives a low whistle. “Tell me that’s not a great shot.”

“That is Shiro’s ass. I mean it’s all of him. Asleep. In bed. Naked. Very naked. . .” Hunk continues, like his hands might absolve him if he confesses earnestly enough to the truth of all he had seen.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m looking at this,” Allura groans. She flutters her fingers in front of her face, letting them wriggle in the air like distressed butterflies. “Lance, take it away!”

“You’re still looking.”

“I know! Put it away!”

Pidge wrinkles her nose, shooing the phone out of her face as Lance hovers it, pinched between fingertips, for closer inspection. “Does Shiro know Keith has that on his phone?” 

Another shrug as Lance pulls the device back against his palm and sinks into his chair once more. “Nope, but he’s about to get an eyeful if he hasn’t.”

*

He can taste himself on his lips, feel his name as its imprinted against the corner of his mouth and Shiro kisses him again, deeper, fuller this time. Keith pushes up into the act of it all, letting his tongue swipe along lips, into mouth, recognizing again the salted spill of himself still lingering over Shiro’s tongue.

And the mere acceptance of it, fearlessly taking kiss after kiss, has Shiro moaning into his mouth like a man on the brink of total absolution. Keith lifts his hand from the vanity table and runs his fingers along Shiro’s cheek, slowly sliding them across skin, dragging him in ever deeper, until they sink into the dark of his hair. Nails curl in to scrape against scalp; a breath bursts hard over Shiro’s lips, spiking warm against Keith’s chin.

A soft press of lips is set to his skin. Something starts vibrating against his thigh. Keith ignores it, choosing instead to fixate on the way Shiro’s mouth has found his throat once more, on how his teeth glance against the fine line of it and send volts of pleasure through his nerves, reminding him that Shiro has always had more to offer him.

The vibrating starts again, grating louder against his consciousness.

Keith sets his other hand to searching, the one not preoccupied with encouraging Shiro’s mouth with little tugs upon his hair, and when he finds the phone, he pushes it out from beneath his leg. 

“Shiro. . .”

“Mmmm?” warms up the crook of his neck, a distracted bit of sound. 

“. . .your phone. . .”

Shiro doesn’t move for it immediately. Instead, he flicks his tongue against skin, kisses the spot – once, then twice – before finally lifting his head to locate the device. Keith’s fingers are still toying with his hair, still whispering they have time to find one another. But his phone is there, its screen glaring fluorescent in the muted lighting of the room.

It buzzes again against the table, and this time, Shiro reaches out to unlock the device. He flicks his finger over the message that had been insistently making itself known and finds himself staring, caught between a resilient desire and a more tentative confusion spilling into his awareness. 

“Who has your phone right now?”

Keith tips his head back, blinking at Shiro through that wanton haze that always clouds vision and better thoughts alike. 

“I think I left it in the main room with Allura. Why?” 

His voice is low, husky with satisfaction, and it makes Shiro want to forget what he had just seen. With a soft huff, he leans back in to place another kiss against Keith’s shoulder.

“Something tells me Lance has it.”

“What are you talking about?”

A laugh answers that as Shiro rolls his head in the direction of the phone. Keith glances down, then leans in closer to make out the text all but yelling at him from beneath a picture he knows far too well. Something in his heart drops, keeps dropping, and he keeps waiting to hear it shatter upon the ground but there is only that endless sinking feeling.

Going. . . .going. . . .going. . .

_Shiro, get your dick out of his ass. We have to take the stage in thirty._

“Doesn’t he know I was waiting until we got home tonight for that?”

Keith turns his gaze on Shiro, blinking like a man woken too soon from a dream that had been too good for him, but the grin that’s plastered across Shiro’s face brings in the memory that his reality is something far better than any promise his subconscious could conjure up. Laughter starts to spill out of his throat, and as Keith tosses his head back and lets it out in full earnest, Shiro is back to kissing him along his jawline, smiling at the sound of it all.

“Maybe I’ll tell him in the middle of the set tonight.”


End file.
